The Hunters

Chapter 8

Narration

Luminous greenery coats the ground, rough trunks protruding in a haphazard formation around the perimeter. A few towering boulders lie sequentially, circulating a rectangular stone surface in the center. It sits atop four smaller rocks, resembling a primitive, ritualistic alter. A single blossom adorns its surface, wilted and dying although retaining an almost lively glow of colour; a bright fuschia. The girl admires its beauty, curiously watching the subtle pulse of light surrounding it. It appears to lift the oppressive sheen of the stone it lies on, serving to mask the small spark of uncertainty set alight by the strange scene. It is as if the flower itself is attempting to blind her of potential danger, shuffling all of her thoughts.

She walks sceptically towards the stone surface, noticing it's rough, jagged edges and the iridescent glint it holds. The uncertainty remains in the back of her mind, while at the forefront of her thoughts lies ordinary curiosity that she can't appear to fight. Bringing her hands towards the surface, she carefully places them palm down onto the rough stone. Unexpectedly, it feels warm to the touch. Her skin tingles.

The heat intensifies.

She can feel the all consuming heat thrumming throughout her body, coursing through her veins and tugging at each nerve. It scorches her fingertips. Her muscles clench, tensing painfully.

A thick droplet hits her forehead.

Her head lifts, taking in the darkness above. A pure black sky, with only a vague hint of light radiating from a dying, pale star within the void.

The air grips her lungs, squeezing.

A figure stalks towards her, faceless. It shimmers a dull grey light that pulses with every step it takes. As it approaches, it whispers gently to her, the words not quite reaching her ears.

Determined, she attempts to tug her hands away from the table. They do not budge, any strength that she applies proving pointless as if her skin is welded to it.

Another droplet falls. And another. And another.

One by one. Caging her body and the stone surface with a glistening red sheen, yet leaving the glowing blossom untouched.

They fall faster.

She tries to loosen her hands, pulling them with adrenaline fueled power, which only serves to tear the skin, the pain temporarily muted. The grey mass stalks gradually closer, whispering again something too quiet to hear.

She tries to scream, but no sound comes out.

The figure nears, coming face to face to her. A skinny hand reaches up, clasping her chin in a pitifully loose grip. Once again it whispers, yet despite their physical closeness, the words are too distant to hear.

*****

The faint voice rings in her head. She looks around, darkness being the only surroundings.

She lifts her hands to inspect them. She cannot see them clearly, but can distinguish the indication of blistering and torn skin hanging down, exposing the redness underneath. They throb and bleed profusely, the burning sensation never leaving.

The whispering sounds from all directions with a deep humming undertone. She tries to listen closely to decode the words, but they are jumbled, many inaudible. Picking out one voice, she focuses on it, trying to tie it to a direction

She steps forwards, taking a deep breath. The faint voice becomes stronger, encouraging her to follow.

Stepping forwards again, she falls.